The Warrior I Know You Are
© 2019 Ashton Knight (Samurai), all rights reserved. This is a Path of Legends short. May contain violence, some language, and other mature themes. Prologue: A Letter Written in Blood My dear friend, It will please you to learn that Tokunaga Satoru has been taken care of. We no longer have to fear for the safety of our power and influence; rest assured that we will remain in power for millennia to come. A new daimyo has risen to the throne since poor Satoru’s . . . disappearance, and you will find him to be much more agreeable and a great deal less dangerous to the Ancient Kingdom. Again, my friend, fear not for the safety of the state – the danger has passed. And if anyone should question the fate of Satoru, do inform them that it was his samurai who ripped his life away. They refuse to pledge their loyalty to their new lord, and such behavior will prove quite problematic and warrants death. But they will be simple to dispose of when they have a price on their heads; after all, what sort of a samurai kills his own lord? Other than the cursed samurai, all is well. The stars shine bright and the sky is clear – rejoice, dear friend, for Satoru is dead! Soon we will silence all voices of rebellion and perhaps, at long last, bring peace to this war-torn world. In the meantime, you should meet me for sake – it has been far too long, good man! Wishing you well, N. Chapter One Lively music played, and Akira and his father sipped their drinks in comfortable silence. His father had some sake, and Akira had some apple juice he was pretending was sake. Outside, the moon glowed gently, and the stars glittered like ice crystals; a peaceful sky made for a peaceful tavern, at least in Nebula. The peace was not disrupted once, even as more samurai entered the tavern. When the apple juice was three-fourths gone, the streets were empty, and the number of samurai in the tavern decreased as the minutes went by. Akira would have guessed it was a few hours after midnight, maybe two or three o’clock, so it made sense that everyone was going home. He was supposed to be asleep by now – seventeen o’clock was his curfew – but the fact that he couldn’t was the very reason they were at the tavern in the first place. Unlike everyone else, he wasn’t going home any time soon. “Nothing beats late-night sake,” his father said, finishing his drink. “Except more late-night sake...” He gave Akira a mock scowl. “But I can’t order more because you’re here.” Akira smiled and looked at the nearly deserted counter, where an Angel server was nervously polishing dishes and casting frequent glances at the door. Nervously. That was out of character. He never asked for her name, but he knew her well enough; she was always confident and extroverted, holding lengthy conversations with almost anyone. She wasn’t nervous about anything. Ever. Why had that suddenly changed? He turned back to his father and whispered, “Something’s not right.” His father had been looking at the server too, and he nodded. “Something’s definitely off. Maybe she–” Before he could finish, the door flew open, and in stormed the very fear that was ever-present in Akira’s subconscious. There was no mistaking the black and silver armor, or the red and silver flag with its crossed hourglasses, or the sheer amount of power they radiated, or...or anything. It was them. They were here. The Ancient Kingdom. Akira’s father wasted no time in throwing the table aside, kicking his chair away and drawing both swords. Akira followed suit, though after the table was gone, he didn’t have much choice. His heart pounding in his chest, he faced the samurai, sent here by the lords and Shogun who had hunted them for a murder they hadn’t even committed. Daimyo Tokunaga Satoru had never been Akira's favorite person – he'd put him down a lot with things he said, and he had made it clear from the beginning that Akira was not someone he cared about in the least. Akira could think of several instances of bullying, and he'd never had the guts to speak up about it because who could he tell anyway? But all the same, Tokunaga had been his lord, and he’d had no choice but to be loyal until his last breath; as much as he resented him, the thought of murdering him had never crossed his mind. It was an untouchable act, an unthinkable one, and it would have meant betrayal. And betrayal meant dishonor, and dishonor was not the way of the samurai. So it angered him quite a bit that the Ancient Kingdom – and the entire world – blamed him and the other ronin for the death of their lord. What could they have even gained from it? Despite his anger, he didn’t have the courage to do anything other than look at the floor. Tense silence reigned for several long moments, and Akira wasn’t entirely sure the Ancients couldn’t hear his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel every samurai’s harsh eyes on him, searching his soul for any scraps of sin for which they could throw him into their dungeons. “You’re no coward,” his father hissed, shattering the silence. “Look straight at them.” Akira screamed at himself to do what his father said, but he couldn’t – the power of the Ancients seemed to force him to avoid eye contact, to avoid any challenging of their authority. Fear sank its claws into him, and he could do nothing to imply the false statement that he wasn’t afraid. “The boy knows his place,” the samurai who appeared to be the leader said. “You, on the other hand, filthy ronin...” She drew her sword, the blade glinting menacingly in the dim tavern light. “You have yet to learn yours. Shall I teach you?” “There’s no need,” Akira’s father said, steadying his blades. “I already know I don’t bow to you.” The samurai smirked behind her mask. “You are in no position to be offering such disrespect. Samurai!” The other samurai snapped to attention – one of them had been taking small biscuits from one of the deserted tables, and he quickly snatched his hand away from the basket. Akira almost laughed, having never seen an Ancient do any such thing. They spilled blood everywhere they went and ignited the fire of fear in everyone they met – they didn’t steal biscuits. It just wasn’t– Wait a second. Stealing. In particular, stealing food. He squinted at the biscuit samurai, trying to hide the fact that he was doing so. There was something vaguely familiar about him – not in appearance, but in mannerisms. The way he shifted his weight as he stood there, how he kept tugging on his left earlobe, how his eyes kept darting everywhere... It was him. It had to be. And here he was, in another dangerous situation. “Seize these murderous ronin.” No sooner had the leading samurai spoken than did the others rush at Akira and his father. Adrenaline surged through Akira, and as terrified as he was, he was ready to fight. He braced himself for combat when another order was shouted, this time by a different voice. “Stop!” The samurai froze, sheathing their blades, but Akira and his father kept their swords raised, ready for this to be a trick. But when someone stepped out from the kitchen, Akira knew it was not. The newcomer was as tall as Angels came, standing at more than seven feet, his wings extended slightly rather than hidden against his back like those of the samurai. He was dressed casually – comfortable-looking pants and a jacket – but the swords at his waist told the world that he was a samurai. He looked challengingly at the leading samurai, katana in hand, and the blade, glowing like a sliver of sun, indicated a very high rank. “I’ll handle this, Inari.” The leading samurai’s demeanor changed to one of strong displeasure, but she had no choice but to obey. She offered a begrudging bow before retreating into the shadows with her samurai, where they watched Akira and his father carefully. To the nervous server behind the counter, the newcomer said, “Thank you for informing us of their whereabouts. I believe the reward is ten thousand dragoncoins. Inari will provide you with the information necessary to claim your reward.” Emphatically, he added, “Won’t you, Inari?” to which the leading samurai replied with an indignant growl. She jerked her head in the direction of the door, and the server uneasily followed her outside. When they were gone, the newcomer looked at Akira and his father. The fear almost made Akira’s heart stop. One of the highest-ranking samurai in the Ancient Kingdom, the Silver Captain himself, was looking right at him, and he didn’t like the look of that embersword. This samurai was here to kill him, or arrest him, or...or something terrible. All for a crime he hadn’t even committed. Don’t hurt me,'' he wanted to say. I’m only twelve. I haven’t done anything . . .'' I didn’t kill Daimyo Tokunaga . . . '“So,” Captain Bakshi said, scrutinizing both of them, “we meet at last, killers of Tokunaga.” His eyes went to Akira’s father, and Akira was relieved to have the attention deviated away from him, even if it was just for a moment. “That’s not all they’ve got on you, Miyamoto,” Captain Bakshi said. “A little birdie told us you were–” “What, Empowered?” Akira’s father said with a laugh. “Damn right!” He geared up to use his powers, only to find that he couldn’t, and Akira was met with despair. They could have gotten out of here so easily otherwise! “I put anti-ichor in your sake,” Captain Bakshi said, smiling a little. “You won’t be telekinetically throwing buildings at me or whatever it is that you can do.” “Curse you,” Akira’s father growled. “I’m already pretty cursed, considering I have to deal with you,” Captain Bakshi replied smoothly. “Now. Step outside, hm? This won’t take long.” '''Chapter Two Akira’s heart was pounding, and he didn’t know what was going on. Was Captain Bakshi going to kill them? Why had he left the others behind? What was his plan for Akira and his father? Why were they all the way out here? And why hadn’t his father attacked by now? It was two of them against one samurai – surely they had a chance at getting away. But the sheer amount of power radiated by Captain Bakshi suggested otherwise. “Where are you taking us?” Akira’s father asked, a question Akira had too but was too afraid to ask. The samurai did not reply, and they walked in tense silence down the empty city street, unsure of their fate. Finally they stopped in what looked to be a deserted town square, and the samurai turned to look at them. “Empowered are a danger to our world and life as we know it,” he said, “and you are Empowered, Miyamoto. By Ancient law, I am obliged to arrest you and see to it that you are obliterated.” Akira’s father looked defiantly back, refusing to cower in fear, and Akira envied his bravery. Captain Bakshi continued. “And you and your son were involved in the death of Tokunaga Satoru,” he said. “So I have every reason to arrest you both and throw you into our coldest, darkest dungeon.” So that was their fate. Imprisonment, sentencing, and a horrible death. But what Captain Bakshi said next shocked them both. “But if your son can defeat me in a duel, you are free to go.” Most fathers of samurai families would have been honored to have their son fight, but not Akira’s father. He'd always been very much on the protective side, and when Akira had fought his first duel at six, his father had been very angry when he found out. He wasn't any less proud of him, but he made him promise not to fight any more duels until he was older; Akira had gone out and challenged someone the next week because he was, in fact, older, even if it was only by seven days. He wanted to fight, he wanted to prove himself, and he wasn't going to let anything or anyone stop him. But being faced with the Silver Captain... He was grateful for his father's protection, as short as it would last. The very thought of fighting Captain Bakshi paralyzed him, and he wanted to cry. There was no way he would make it out alive... “He’s only twelve years old,” his father said fiercely, protectively throwing his arm in front of Akira. “You can’t expect a boy to fight like a man. He’ll get slaughtered – he’s still learning!” “Then consider this an assessment,” Captain Bakshi said, steadying his embersword. “Fight me instead,” Akira’s father insisted. “If anyone’s going to die today, it’s not going to be my son." He looked at him almost pleadingly. "Please. He’s all I have left." "Then let's hope he's a fighter," Captain Bakshi said. He nodded at Akira. "Come on. You want a chance at freedom, don't you?" Akira did. He really did. But if he fought Captain Bakshi, he didn't even have a chance at ''life ''- the man was the Silver Captain for a reason. His combat skills had to be far above anything Akira possessed, perhaps above him and his father's skills put together. There was no way Akira could win this duel. But... If he backed down, if he gave up, they would be thrown into prison and later executed. There was no chance at life there either, much less one at freedom. Both paths led to death, but if he chose to fight Captain Bakshi... At least he would go down fighting, and that was how a samurai was supposed to die. "Fine," he said quietly, unsheathing his katana, much to his father's horror. "I accept your challenge, C-captain." “No, Akira,” his father said, grabbing his shoulders. “There has to be another way!” “The boy has made his decision,” Captain Bakshi said sharply. “I suggest you stand back, Miyamoto.” “You’re not going to hurt a single hair on his head,” Akira’s father growled, moving to stand in front of his son. “The boy fights me, and he fights alone,” Captain Bakshi said, his face illuminated by the glow of the embersword. “Otherwise, the deal is off.” “What deal?” a new voice said. “What did I miss?” Captain Bakshi turned to see who the newcomer was, and Akira’s father seized the opportunity to attack, bringing his sword across to cut through the Captain’s neck. But the embersword was there to intercept, and a heartbeat later, Akira’s father was on the ground, bleeding from a sizzling slice in his chest. He staggered to his feet, breathing hard, and he was about to attack again when he recognized the newcomer in the same instant as Akira. It was the biscuit samurai. “Asha,” Captain Bakshi said confusedly. “Why did you follow me? I believe I told you to stay with Inari.” “Well, maybe Asha would’ve,” the samurai said, shifting into a glowing elven creature, “but I didn’t, because I’m here to–” “Loki!” Captain Bakshi hissed, raising his sword defensively. “I should’ve known.” “Whoa there,” Loki said, his half-Syren, half-star elf form letting him see eye-to-eye with the Captain. “Interrupting isn’t nice.” Category:Content (Samurai) Category:Stories